Chapter Text
In the depths of the woods, in a land untouched by humanity lie the Lands of the Fae, and their Courts. In the centre of these four realms is a lake, known as the Lake of Sorrows. It’s said that upon the loss of his beloved sister, The Goddess of Day, the heartbroken God of Night wept for a century. His grief flowed across the lands, pooling at his feet and branching into four mighty rivers, bisecting the land into four kingdoms. As their lands were drowned along with their people the Fae embarked on a desperate quest to pull the God of Night from his anguish. The tale of this quest is lost to time, but the end of the Night God’s grief is still celebrated to this day in all four of the Fae Courts.
To the East of the Lake lies a land of sloping grasslands and meandering streams, the Spring Court. Ruled by a man of flittering attention but sharp wit the Spring Court is a land of forever blossoms and infinite music.
To the West of the Lake lies a land of fire blackened bark, crumbling leaves and vibrant foliage, the Autumn Court. A King of renown and sensationalism resides in this land of beautiful decay and crackling flame.
To the South of the Lake lies a land of glowing sun and lashing rain, the Summer Court. Governed by a young King of art and exuberance the monsoonal heat and lush greenery of the Summer Court is highly revered.
To the North of the Lake is where our tale begins, in a land of pale sunlight and frosted earth, the Winter Court. Lead by their predictably unpredictable King Viktor Nikiforov, the Fae within this realm where trees bend under the weight of permanent snowfall and frozen rivers trickle into stillness, were well into their celebrations for the Festival of Joyful Night.
Fae from all over the expansive and mountainous Court and some from outside Courts, had converged on the capital of Moscow. Fae Lords angling to usurp the current Crown Prince, Yuri Plisetsky were commonly seen fluttering around the King. To the aforementioned Crown Prince’s displeasure, his mood sullen for most of the all-night festival by result.
Unfortunately, it was not the ambitious lords who suffered Yuri’s ire, no that responsibility fell to the Prince’s long term vassal, and perhaps his sole friend; Otabek Atlin, a Knight from a province to the southwest known as Almaty.
“Stupid moths,” Yuri spat, glaring at the throne with his gossamer and jewel clothed arms crossed over his chest. Otabek hummed his agreement as good friends do when one rants as Yuri had been for a majority of the celebration. In the flickering firelight and gentle moonlight the white gems dripping from the Prince’s grey gown shone. The most eyes catching of the jewels were utilized in the whirling patterns starting along his chest and flaring out from his shoulders before flowing down the cape of transparent fabric that hung down to the snow-covered ground. He was resplendent. A shimmering prince deserving of the spotlight, but willfully cloaked in darkness. Shadows cast by the towering pines and birches surrounding the festival clearing provided ample room to hide. The fringes of the winter woods provided much needed privacy.
“I can’t wait to see their faces at my coronation,” Yuri sneered, glee gleaming dully in his sea glass eyes.
“You will have to wait Yura,” Otabek murmured, all too aware of what could happen when Yuri got that maliciously look. The debacle from their younger years flashed in Otabek’s mind. The Knight suppressed a shiver.
“Hmpf, I wouldn’t if Vitya would just hurry up and abdicate! He’s like five hundred years old already!” Yuri replied his arms leaving trails of glittering light as he widely waved them about to illustrate his point. A faint but fond smile graced the somber Knight’s lips as he observed the Prince.
“Five hundred is barely middle aged Yura. King Yakov was seven hundred when he finally gave the throne to Viktor who is only in his early three hundreds,” Otabek stated, the faint curling of his lips turning to a half smile as he continued, “Perhaps you’ll finally be as tall as me by the time you get your crown little Yuratchka.”
The slight of the lords was forgotten as Yuri turned to look at Otabek. The annoyance initially creasing his brow fading as he noticed the teasing smile on his friend’s face. Turquoise eyes sparking with his affection Yuri softly shoved Otabek’s shoulder.
“I’ll be taller.” Yuri affirmed.
“We’ll see little Yuratchka, we’ll see.” Was Otabek’s reply. Yuri pulled a face at the nickname.
“Always with ‘little’! I’m barely younger than you, my hundredth name-day was last month anyway, I’m an adult now Beka,” Yuri argued, sounding very much not like an adult as he dismissively waved his hand and crossed his arms.
Otabek smiled softly before replying; “Even if you surpass me in height and title, you’ll always be little Yuratchka, the tiny Fae lordling with his oversized sword glaring at me like a soldier.”
Yuri sighed dramatically, rolling his eyes at his friend’s words. However, a warm smile accompanied his response; “You always bring that up.”
“Pity you don’t remember it,” Otabek smiled.
“It’s hardly my fault Mila whacked me hard enough to rattle my brain!” Yuri cried in superficial indignation.
“She was rather talented with that sword, shame she went into diplomacy,” Otabek mused.
“If by talented you mean dangerous,” Yuri grumbled.
“It is a sword Yura.”
“I know that!” Yuri growled glaring at the smiling Otabek.
“Are you ever planning on taking swordsmanship up again?” Otabek asked, his left hand fingering the hilt of one of the duel shashkas strapped to his waist, his eyes skimming the distant crowd and silent forest warily.
“Why would I? There’s no need,” Yuri replied pointing at where Otabek’s skilled hand rested on the sword’s hilt.
“Yura, I won’t always be here to protect you,” Otabek cautioned, his coal eyes darker from the quiet shadows surrounding them and the gravity of his words.
“Don’t be ridiculous, you’ll always be with me Beka,” Yura declared with casual finality. Yuri leaned his head against the fur-lined shoulder of Otabek’s formal coat as if to end the conversation. Usually the Knight wore studded light armor, perfect for movability in the crowded realm of trees, but the gossamer gowned Prince had stomped into Otabek’s quarters from his neighboring rooms and cajoled the Knight into donning the black coat with its frivolous silver fur trimming that he now found himself in. Otabek had not allowed the Prince to ban his weapons however. The curved sabers strapped to him as always.
Otabek was unsure if it was the light, the dancing flames and soft moonlight reacting strangely, or perhaps something else, but in that moment as he looked down at Yuri, the Knight was in awe. He’d always seen Yuri’s beauty, but until now he’d somehow failed to notice the true extent of his exquisite existence. The Prince’s hair falling to his shoulders, loose and free now lay sprawled across the Knight’s shoulder, glimmering the most spectacular shade of pastel gold Otabek had ever seen. What was once merely a delicate bone structure revealed itself to be a finely carved landscape of sweeping mountains and ravines, perfectly balanced and resplendent. Yuri’s eyes were focused up at the night sky, his gaze often finding the stars, except this time Otabek noticed the swirling vortex of colour in his eyes. What was once a simple blue-green shade revealed itself as a glittering expanse of whirling emerald and sapphire. As if contained within the Fae’s eyes was a sliver of the most glorious dominion in the universe. If you had asked Otabek what perfection was, in that moment he would have wholeheartedly answered Yuri Plisetsky.
Otabek’s eyes widened in surprise, the emotions flooding his mind unfathomable and completely alien. He stood frozen, unwilling and unable to disturb the ethereal creature that had replaced his little Yuratchka. Warmth and wonder bloomed in the Knight. The urge to lightly brush his hand along the sharp angle of this otherworldly being’s cheekbone, to touch them, was almost overwhelming. The desire to be close and never let go coursed through the shell-shocked Knight like a brutal flood. Terrified and simultaneously joyous Otabek was at a loss. Nothing in his short century and three years had prepared him for this onslaught of emotion, of passion, of gentle admiration and devastating affection. It was unlike anything he’d ever heard of, except perhaps a- No. It couldn’t be?
Otabek’s eyes widened more. Surely this couldn’t mean…Yuri was the Prince. His future King. His friend. He could be…He can’t be…then why?
“They’re soulbonded!” An unfamiliar voice gasped out in shock, the shocked exclamation echoing around the suddenly silenced clearing. Otabek’s head snapped towards the source of the voice, trepidation and exultation thrumming through him in equal measure, his reverent gaze on Yuri broken for the barest of moments.
But the source of the cry, a visiting Lady from the Southern province of Kyushu -her name was Minako if Otabek remembered correctly from their brief interaction- was not looking at him. Her eyes were focused in amazement on the frozen forms of the King and an unfamiliar dark haired Fae Lord.
-----
“Soulbonded!” Yuri exclaimed before he could stop himself, surging away from the still frozen Otabek toward the centre of the clearing. He stomped up the dais steps, his angry footfalls on the ice structure causing the shimmering fabric swirling around his ankles to flare outwards violently. “Vitya! Explain!” Yuri demanded in a harsh whisper, coming to a halt before the pair of Fae simply staring at one another.
“Yuratchka, this is Yuuri,” Viktor said, his voice awed and his ice blue eyes locked on the warm brown eyes of the Fae Lord. Yuri levelled a scathing look at his King that expressed may things, most of which are unsuitable to repeat.
“Vitya-,” Yuri growled out, a polite façade descending over his features despite his frustration. The urgent danger of their situation pressing into the forefront of the young Fae’s mind, replacing his annoyance.
“You’re my soulbonded.” Victor interrupted, awed by the Fae Lord before him. If possible the Fae Lord managed to widen his eyes more. Overcome and utterly blindsided the pair were soft spoken as they exchanged words.
“You’re my soulbonded.” The dark haired Yuuri breathed, disbelief colouring his words in place of the euphoria in Viktor’s.
The utter adoration shining from both of them made Yuri’s stomach turn.
“Our entire Court and the Autumn lords are watching you two,” Yuri hissed through a fake smile as he tried to downplay the intensely personal moment unfolding before an extremely public audience. His attempt at waving off the complete devotion, the weakness, written all over his King’s face was highly unsuccessful. Viktor was making them look weak. Yuri could have run the King through with Otabek’s sabre, he knew firsthand how ruthless their brethren were, especially those Autumn Court bastards staring straight that them. He could feel their nimble minds begging to plot against his Court. This was bad.
-----
The Prince’s words failed to register in the King’s mind, his thoughts preoccupied by the pure perfection of Yuuri’s lips. He was in the middle of deciding to kiss him when a sharp elbow speared him in the ribs. The unexpected pain cleared his head long enough for the panicked and frustrated mutterings of his heir to register in his mind. “-are you insane! Cut it out, they’re watching. Those vultures are going to use this against us if you don’t get a grip you insufferable idiot-”
“A toast!” Viktor said, his centuries of experience with the snakepit that is the Fae Courts giving him guidance. Yuri practically sighed in relief as the atmosphere changed. Wary suspense giving way to celebration. Goblets and dainty flutes rose in the air as Viktor entwined his hand with Yuuri. A show of solidarity, possession but also comfort if the subtle shaking of the Fae Lord’s hands was an indication of his mind-state.
“To good health for both you and your soulbonded!” Yuri called raising the first glass he’d touched all night, hastily shoved into his hands by an observant servant.
“To the King! To Winter!” Came the response.
The King and his Heir shared a look. You had to pick today. Yuri’s incredulous eyes said. A subtle shrug of Viktor’s shoulder replied. I don’t do things by halves. A half roll of Yuri’s eyes told the King just what his Crown Prince thought of him.
-----
Yuri was glorious. A whirlwind of beauty fluttering from one end of the clearing to the next. Destroying rumors. Reinforcing the Crown’s strength. He navigated the treacherous waters of Fae politics with ease and grace, not from experience but talent. Otabek couldn’t resist allowing the soft smile to split his face as he watched his Prince at work. Seeing the vengeful and exuberant boy he’d known since childhood turn into a creature of poise and temperance was always a shock to him, but over the years the Knight had grown to appreciate this veneer of civility Yuri had constructed. It at least kept him from getting into as many fights.
The Knight smiled wider as he watched Yuri subtly smash his sharp elbow into his King’s ribs and hiss out a command for the second time that night, all the while holding a polite conversation with the dark-haired Fae linked to the King. Pride filled him, only growing stronger as he saw the pained flash in Viktor’s eyes. He may be useless with a sword, but Yuri Plisetsky was brutal in a brawl.
The several times Yuri had caught Otabek’s eye had sent jolts through him sending him spiraling once more into the pit of his thoughts. Otabek was helplessly drowning in the pure emotion that swamped him. Confusion ran through his mind, doubt conflicting with hope and fear following each thought.
Otabek froze as Yuri’s gaze held him. A proper smile graced the Prince’s lips as he made his way through the crowds surrounding him. Otabek’s mind stilled.
He was beautiful. An ethereal creature too glorious for his hands to touch though they longed to. A stunning dancer twirling through the fatal game of intrigue. A commanding solider made of steel. A future King unbent by the weight of his crown.
The Knight’s mind finally settled. His path at last clear.
As his prince returned to his side, the Knight made a vow. A vow to protect, to serve and to forget whatever madness sung in his blood. Yuri levelled a blazing smile at the Knight and Otabek realized something earth-shattering:
Not loving Yuri Plisetsky would be the hardest thing he’s ever attempted.
-----
“They’re idiots” Yuri remarked. His head comfortably nestled on his Knight’s shoulder, fatigue and familiarity stripping him of any form of façade in the privacy of the forest shadows.
“The way they look at each other, it’s very soft and kind. I’ve never seen Victor look like that,” Otabek observed, his voice quiet and contemplative.
“It’s because his brain melted out of his ears. Doesn’t he see how weak his distraction makes us look?” Yuri muttered to himself as well as his Knight.
“I think would be nice, to feel that love,” Otabek murmured softly, as if hoping it would go unnoticed by the Prince’s sharp ears.
“What?!” Yuri said, tearing his attention from the spectacle happening in the centre of the tree ringed winter lake to stare at his companion. Yuri started in surprise as he took in the gentleness of Otabek’s expression. Gone was the harsh severity of his usual visage. Replaced by a wistful sadness as his coal eyes fell on Viktor and Yuuri twirling around the frosted earth together.
“They’re soulbonded. I expect their love is a joyous thing to be blessed with,” Otabek said, his eyes not leaving the circling figures, longing etched into every muscle. Yuri followed his gaze only for frustration to billow back to life within the prince, his eyes noting the predatory stance of the Autumn Court Lords.
“Love is irrelevant, they’ll bring war to Winter at this rate. That moth in the Autumn Court has been eyeing our south-western lands ever since he came to the throne,” Yuri growled ominously, his anger leaving no room to contemplate Otabek’s strangeness. With Yuri’s narrowed stare fixed on the travesty unfolding before him and his thoughts filled with plans against the inevitable skirmishes along the border the Prince failed to notice the look in Otabek’s eyes. If Yuri had been paying attention, he would have seen his quiet pain, his resigned longing and the fresh promise already broken.